


Not Quite a Fairy Tale

by TurningintoR



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Assasination, Azelma's really creepy, Enjolras needs to talk to Grantaire, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Knives, M.Thenardier's a dick, No Smut, Pining, Swearing, Torture, assasin!taire, goodMontparnasse!, prince!jolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurningintoR/pseuds/TurningintoR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Princess Eponine is forced to marry Prince Enjolras across the sea, she takes her brothers with her. Grantaire promptly falls in love with Enjolras, who falls in love with him back. Everything seems fine until Eponine's step mother starts to get greedy, and everything starts to fall apart.<br/>Oh and Jehan has a thing for knives, Grantaire goes off and kills people so he doesn't have to face his feelings, and Azelma's really creepy. And I don't know what the hell I'm doing with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like reading about anything in the tags don't read it. I'll always try to put trigger warnings at the start of every chapter, but if you think I've left one out, tell me. Don't read if any of the things trigger you. This is my first fic, so I hope you like it:)  
> Thanks to my best friend Miriam for beta reading this.

Once upon a bygone time, there was a beautiful castle. Its walls were a deep oyster-shell blue-grey. It wasn't by the sea, as many castles in such stories are. Nor was it on a mountain top- or deep in a forest, because those castles are from fairy-tales, and this is not such a story. No, this castle was in a plain of emerald grasses and wheat-golden hills undulating like waves into the distance. Five silver rivers cut through this bountiful land. To complete this patch- work quilt, woods and hedgerows hemmed the fields. It was a land known for its rich farming; the coarse grasses were perfect for sheep, pigs and cows, and the extensive network of water meadows meant that the lambs were always early, and so the people were always well-fed. This land was Uilts. 

There was a town, which flourished due to the magnificent cathedral, which brought people from all over the country, to see the spire that towered u to the heavens, the tallest building in all the history of the land. This brought trade to the market, which lead to it being the biggest in the realm. There were other wanders nearby too; three rings of standing stones, which no one could remember the origins of, and the two giant ringed forts. The name of this town was New Sarum. 

And of course the castle had the last thing it needed to be complete. A beautiful queen and a loving king. They had a single fiery daughter and were completely content. 

The Queen, who was called Aoife has- as many queens do- long pale blond hair, the colour of the harvest moon. Her eyes were the colour of new apples just as the blossom coated the ground like a delicate snow. Her skin had the ivory and rose complexion that the land was known for, and it was as smooth as milk. She was very small, but very strong willed, and as such, she was called the Fey Queen by her people. 

And, as all queens are, she was as fair in speech as she was in temperament. She excelled at everything. Well not quite everything. Firstly, she could not sing to save her life, and had early on learnt that people didn’t appreciate her attempts, even after many long hours with her teacher. And secondly, she couldn’t play a musical instrument. Not for wont of trying although, she had been just as dedicated to her lessons as she was with her singing, but had been gently persuaded to stop trying. Thirdly, due to her structure, she couldn’t often look people in the eye. It amused her to see how each person at court tried to overcome this problem. Some tried to crouch slightly, but often ended up on their backsides. Others could try to sit, but etiquette demanded they stand.

There was not really much to say about the king, other than he was kind, and rather soft hearted. He was an ordinary man, with ordinary brown eyes, brown hair, height, structure and pretty much everything else. 

Their daughter, the princess, seemed to have inherited her mother’s humor, wit and fiery personality (although the queen didn’t show it often, she had an amazing temper), and her father’s looks. Not that she wasn’t pretty; she just wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the court. This suited her perfectly. She saw how the men at court watched the pretty maids and servant girls. She had always been a little alarmed at the look in their eyes. 

oOo

But, as lots of queens do, Aoife died, leaving Eponine and her three month old brother Gavroche. And as many kings do, their father became a hard cruel man, his kind heart hardened by grief.

Eponine grieved for her mother, but she had a few special friends who made it their job to distract her. Two of them had the same dark, curly hair as she did, but they had both inherited their mother’s eyes. Both of them were the King’s many barstards. There was Grantaire, two years older than her, at eight. And there was Montparnasse, another three years older, at eleven. And there was her cousin Jehan, a year older than her, he Duke of the North. He was small like Aoife and her brother (his father), but he’d inherited a shock of bright auburn hair, which he kept very long. He was full of surprises; for such a tiny child he was unbelievably strong. He also had a penchant for knives and weapons. It was clear to the court that he would become an assassin, along with the other royal bastards, at an unnecessarily young age. 

Eponine and her friends hardly ever spent time in the castle, instead playing in the rivers and woods like common children. They went brown that summer, for they didn’t return to the palace after dark, but slept out under the stars in a pile of limbs, only vaguely caring about their positions and responsibilities. 

oOo

Three years later, the King did what many kings did. He remarried. His new wife was a small woman with blond hair, but that was where the similarities with the previous queen ended. His new queen – Marvis- had dirty yellow ringlets, dark, piggy eyes and a little too much fondness for the drink, making her pudgy. She was avoided by Eponine as much as the little girl could help it. The only times they saw each other, was at state banquets. But then, Eponine would be sat at one of the lower tables with the other noble children, noble or not. 

It wasn't that Marvis was mean to the children, far from it, she was pleasant to them when she actually spoke to them. No, she just couldn't care less about them, nor could she be bothered with them.

She had a daughter the next year, and the King declared little Gavroche a bastard. He was a small thing, with blond hair and very blue eyes, of which no one could tell the origin of, so his allegation wasn't completely unfounded, but many who still supported the old queen didn't believe the accusation, she had truly loved the King, and he’d loved her back. 

He didn't claim Eponine was a bastard, for she looked almost exactly like him, and she was so similar to her mother. And she was a girl, and could be married off to the highest bidder. 

oOo

Eponine was much surprised eleven years later when her father told her she was betrothed to a prince in a country across the sea. Not for the obvious reason, but that he had waited this long. 

“You’ll go at the end of the week. You will take Gavroche with you. The King wants him for his niece. You will also take Grantaire and Jehan with you. They are part of the marriage agreement.” Her father said looking extremely bored. Grantaire snorted, looking amused. Just like the king to trade away his children and his only sister’s child.

“What about Monty?” She asked, hope in her eyes. All of them away from her father at last. The idea was heavenly. “No he is too useful. I’m not sending all my hunting birds away.” She knew better than to protest, finishing her meal as quickly as possible. Then she and Grantaire fled to the tower that held the rooms of all the King’s children. She sat down on the window seat in her solar. “Part of the marriage agreement? Really?” He was doubled over, gripping the stone wall for support. She smiled and sighed. “I’m going to miss Monty. But we've seen so little of him recently... Maybe it won’t be so bad.” 

“Course it won’t Ep. I doubt many kings are as bad as this. Just have a few kids and the prince will leave you alone,” Grantaire reassured her.  
“You make it sound so easy,” Eponine objected.  
“You have been preparing for this all your life,” Jehan reminded her, stepping out of the shadows. She snorted, but nodded.

Looping his arms through theirs, and pulled them out of the room, down many stone steps and out of the castle. Let’s take a ride. It won’t be dark for hours; the end of the week is soon.” They agreed. Soon their worries were far behind them, quite literally. 

oOo

The ship rolled and swayed underneath their feet. None of them were very impressed. They’d all spent many hours rowing on the rivers around the castle, and in the lochs of the North in Jehan’s lands. 

The worst thing was being cooped up in three small cabins. One for the boys, one for the princess, and one for living in. All four had lots of energy, as they were used to roaming freely around the countryside all day. Their only outlets were flicking knives across the room, as they were forbidden to be up on deck, lest one fell overboard, or accidently brake something. The King had learnt from the unfortunate incident with the White Ship and the war it had caused. 

That particular activity had terrified the living daylights out of the servants that had been hired to go with them, although the prince probably had enough servants of his own, but the King didn’t care about the common people anymore. Grantaire let out a dark snicker as a knife wavered in the wood by the left ear of the maid who was standing at the door. 

Her eyes still as big as saucers, she stammered “We’re j-just com-coming int-o the port now,” she stammered before fleeing with as much sped as one can manage when unused to the movement of a ship, after being scared to death. “Be nice R,” Jehan chided gently. Gavroche cackled and Eponine rolled her eyes.  
“I can be nice, but I just choose not to be,” his voice still with the evil tone. 

They had listened in amazement to stories of this new land they were coming to. Tales of towering mountains, that made any back at home look like mounds of earth. There were tales of endless thick forests that you could get lost in, by putting just one foot off the path. Abundant vineyards and field after field filled with lavender, just for turning into soaps and perfumes. But soon they’d be able to tell which parts were embellished or not. 

oOo

The wind was freezing up on the deck. “Oh fuck,” was Eponine’s only comment when she saw the massive crowds that had gathered to welcome their future queen. Grantaire and Jehan looked at her clothes pointedly. She was wearing men’s trousers, a brightly pattered waist coat, a very torn blouse and the sash which was part of the traditional dress of their country. She shrugged. 

She paused at the top of the gang plank in trepidation. Gavroche gave her a nudge, eager to be back on dry land. Slowly she descended before bolting into the carriage. The crowd began to cheer, a few cooed at the sight of Gavroche, who was still rather tiny, looking more like nine than eleven. Gavroche bounced into the carriage, and Grantaire and Jehan slipped in with slightly more dignity, that befitted their station. It was dark and stuffy inside, and it jolted and bounced constantly. They were all very glad that the ride was short, as they were all aching slightly. 

Eponine got out of the carriage and was filled with dismay. The building was squat- well for a king’s home- no more than three floors high, and very long, at least ninety windows on the first level, and it was made of honey coloured stone, that was intricately carved and decorated. It was a palace, not a castle. It was so elaborate and couldn't have been more different from home. 

She was shown down a long carpet, which looked like it had come from the East. At home that type of carpet would be hanging on a wall, not out for people to tread on. The front door was light and small, unlike the heavy iron- bound doors at home. A tall man stood at the top of the steps, his hair was grey and his eyes were a lighter shade of the same colour. He had the uptight air of a servant whose whole life had been spent serving a harsh master, not like the servants that were so willing to talk about their families, so proud of their jobs. 

He bowed lowly to her. “Welcome, Milady Princess. I hope your journey was not too strenuous.” Without waiting for a reply, he swept off inside. Slightly bemused, but still a little saddened. This man was obviously the King’s personal servant. She followed him inside.

And almost lost him more times than she could count. The inside of the palace was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Tropical plants of silver and gold encrusted in jewels, exotic animals, tapestries of silk. Such wealth. Such waste. 

They stopped in a hall, and went through a doorway into the largest room she had ever seen. “Stay here, if you please. My Master’s son will be along shortly.” And with that he was gone. Eponine, Grantaire and Jehan shared amused glances. Gavroche started to bounce again in excitement. You couldn't make him out, he was bouncing so hard. 

The whole room became still as a young man of maybe nineteen or twenty years old. Even Gavroche had stopped bouncing. He wore a simple dark grey tunic and black hose, and dark leather hunting boots. His hair looked like spun sunlight that curled delicately. His skin was as pale as ivory, with no blemishes. His face was finely chiseled, his nose straight. His face was symmetrical; nothing was too big, or too small. His lips were the pink of the tip of a rose petal. 

Two pairs of eyes met. And like many stories they fell in love. Well not love, not yet, but the feelings would come. But for now it was a primal attraction between them. One of the pairs was a bio-luminescent blue, framed in fair lashes, the eyes of the prince. The other, was framed in long, dark doe- like lashes. The irises were a vibrant blue-green. 

They were not the eyes of the princess.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding, the killing and the pining. Grantaire also develops a slightly more healthy liking for one of the main characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so proper story, but not really the start of the arc yet, but a needed starting point. Thanks to Miriam for Betaing this. Hope you like it.

Grantaire was polishing his knives when Eponine pushed open the door. He glanced up, and raised a questioning eyebrow, “I saw the look on your face when you saw Prince Enjolras,” she commented as she sat down beside him. Grantaire said nothing. Silence descended. He looked up. Her face was expectant. “What? That wasn’t a question, that was a statement,” he pointed out. 

Eponine sighed and gave him The Look. “Ok. Fine. Yes, I think he’s beautiful. But so does the rest of the country. It’s not like I am the exception to that rule.” Eponine grimaced in reply, obviously not that impressed with her soon to be husband. Actually she didn’t seem much impressed by anything here, except the enormous waste of money spent on the palace.

“Do you know when the wedding is?” He asked with a dark scowl that betrayed his resentment to the arrangement. Eponine shook her head, “come on,” she stood and tugged him to his feet, making the knives slide rather dangerously to the floor, “let’s go and find Jehan and we’ll go and explore.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, but complied.

oOo

 

Away from the main royal apartments, the palace was far busier. There were servants scurrying about the place, most far too busy to notice the foreign nobles, although that might be due to the fact the three were very adept at sneaking around unseen. And due to the fact that Grantaire and Jehan’s occupation required then to go anywhere without remark. 

They spent most of the afternoon familiarising themselves with the palace’s layout. They discovered that the building had once been only a manor house, and were able to detect the different ages of the different parts. And like many old houses that had been added to for decades, there were many secrete passages and hidden rooms. Most of which they weren’t supposed to be in.

They found themselves in a small corridor, just below one of the attics (Jehan had had to pick several locks to get there), when he heard a soft murmuring coming from behind a wall. Quietly, he pointed this out to Grantaire and Eponine. Eponine frowned a moment before realising what this indicated. 

Carefully Grantaire examined the wall. It was crumbling, made from clay bricks and obviously had been thrown up in a hurry. He spotted a brick that was far smoother than the others, an obvious sign of constant wear. It was on the penultimate row from the floor, in a corner. Unless you were looking for it, or weren’t trained to spot these things, it would never have been found. 

He bent down and ran his fingers over it. Finding a corner that would let him prise it out, he dug his fingers in and pulled. The wall didn’t move (as wall are wont to do in this situation), but behind the brick, there was a cubby hole, and inside it, there was an old, heavy, iron key. He presented it triumphantly to Jehan, who took it and placed it in a key hole hidden behind a similar brick. There was a whirring noise and part of the wall swung inward.

And Grantaire was greeted with a blade at his throat and a deadly glare from the eyes that had been haunting since he had arrived that morning.

There was a cough from behind the Prince, “Enjolras, if you are going to kill him, I’d recommend not doing it in front of his sister, who happens to be your future wife.” Enjolras’ eyes narrowed but he removed the sword. Jehan gave Grantaire a look that meant he was cross for allowing them to persuade him to leave his knives in his room, and for letting Eponine come at all. 

“Well, that means we don’t have to try and keep this from you. I’m Robin Coufeyrac. I’ve dropped the ‘de’ because firstly, Coufeyrac isn’t a place and secondly, it sounds stupid. I’m normally just known as Coufeyrac.” The man in question had similar dark, curly hair to Grantaire, but it was far neater. His eyes were a deep brown- green. His skin had a deep tan, which the three were starting to recognise as a sign of wealth here. 

“Next you have Combeferre, Enjy’s best friend,” which earnt him a dark scowl (was it wrong to like that scowl so much?). “Then you have Joly, Bossuet and Marius, sons of obscure members of our delightful countries’ royal family,” he indicated to three relatively small young men, all with pale brown hair (one with considerably less hair than the others). “Feuilly and Bahorel are their guards, but we treat them just like us,” two intimidating looking men, one who was built like a bear, and looked like a bear, the other had brighter red hair than Jehan. Both men were standing in the corner. 

“And then of course, we have the Ladies of our group, Musichetta and Cosette,” he gestured to a tall woman with dark auburn hair and smoke grey eyes. The other girl was a little different. She had tawny gold hair, and blue eyes, and very pale skin.

“I may behave like a native, but I was born in your country. I moved when I was seven years old.” Cosette pre-empted their question. Eponine had the odd sensation that she’d met her before, or at least seen her. And again Cosette answered her question before she had even asked it, “My mother was Fantine, your Mother’s disgraced younger sister. Your father sent me from court when your mother died.” Eponine nodded in understanding, she had heard of a cousin that was living across the Narrow Sea. 

“What do you actually do here?” Grantaire’s look made it very clear that he was not at all impressed by the location or by the explanation so far.   
“We make sure that the nobles don’t take too much advantage of the poor. For example, the local Lord of the Manor making the farmers work on his land all year round, so they are unable to tend their own plots of land, and so don’t get enough money to survive the winter. We also help the poor as much as possible.” 

Grantaire opened his mouth to comment on this, but Jehan shut him up with The Look. He narrowed his eyes at his ginger cousin and stuck out his tongue. Jehan replied in the same fashion. This exchange was watched in amusement by all except one.

oOo

 

Dinner was held in a room larger than any Grantaire had seen. He sat at one of the lower tables, all the people he had met in the secrete room were there, although Feuilly and Bahorel stood behind them. Everyone passed them food from their plates (which Grantaire wandered at, at home not even the King used a plate, he would use a bread trencher), so they wouldn’t go hungry.

Grantaire didn’t eat much, the fare being far richer than any was at home. Since the Queen’s death, Grantaire and Jehan had grown used to finding their own food from the forests near the castle. He tried most dishes on the table, but he found a favourite in the duck. He’d often caught and cooked it at home, but had been cooked differently here, and so tasted rather different. He wasn’t completely sure which he preferred.

After everyone had finished, the king stood up,” Please join me in a toast to the Crown Prince and his future bride.” He lifted his mug. “To Prince Enjolras and Princess Eponine,” everyone echoed his words. Eponine scowled and left no one the impression that she actually wanted to get married. Ever. 

Eponine met Grantaire’s eyes. Her look said “help me please”. Neither prince nor princess wanted to marry the other. They had few things in common. Grantaire screwed up his face in a what-the-fuck-do-you-want-me-to-do look. 

This nonverbal conversation continued until Grantaire received a death-glare from Enjolras that made him want to hide under the table. Coufeyrac gave him an odd look, and he realised that he’d actually whimpered.

oOo

 

In the morning Grantaire and Jehan slipped out of the palace just before dawn. They explored the town on foot, running in and out of back alleys. BY the time town was completely busy (not just the baker’s district and the servants up), they had memorised the city completely. The palace was still relatively quiet. They used a servant’s corridor to reach the armoury and practice rooms. 

Grantaire had the advantage of size and Jehan was faster, so they were quite evenly matched. This meant sparring was a long process and they were still at it when the entire group appeared. Neither Grantaire nor Jehan noticed; both were too absorbed in the fight to notice. A knife appeared in Jehan’s hand and darted behind him, and tackled to the ground, the knife at his throat. “Pax,” Grantaire wheezed out. Jehan dropped to the floor and they lay there for a moment, chests heaving. 

“Fuck.” Both boys started to their feet. They relaxed when they registered the identity of their audience. Bahorel and Feuilly were very impressed. They knew that they were watching two masters fight. The others looked suitably impressed. Well, apart from Eponine and Gavroche, who both saw this daily, and Enjolras. 

Admittedly Enjolras was only scowling to stop himself from staring at Grantaire, with his mouth hanging open. Grantaire did look very good, with his clothes sticking to him in all the right places. Enjolras was impressed; he just didn’t want to look like a five year old who has their first crush. 

Grantaire was in a similar position, and was really hoping that his blush was hidden behind his already flushed cheeks. Unsure what to do, he glanced at Jehan and fled to go and hide until his face had stopped betraying him.

When he returned, he saw Jehan showing Feuilly some moves that took advantage of him being relatively small. Eponine was going through knife work with Cosette and Musichetta. Gavroche was zipping about like a bee in summer. Clearly someone had fed him sugar. And it was the eighth hour in the morning. 

oOo

The days passed quickly for them. Autumn was rushing toward them, and so was the royal wedding. Ways around it had been looked for by the Amis (that’s what Grantaire had dubbed them), but the betrothal contract was quite clear; Enjolras must marry Eponine or their countries would be at war, for this was a peace contract. 

With each passing week, Enjolras became surlier and surlier. Grantaire spent less and less time in the palace. Both young men yearned for the other, but neither would admit it, nor do anything about it.

Soon Grantaire could bear it no longer. Reluctantly, he answered the summons he’d been staving off for weeks. Before dawn, before even the bakers arose, he slipped into a part of the palace that few people ever dared enter. 

It was called The Nest, on account of the hundreds of ravens, crows and pigeons, used for carrying messages. It was the centre for the spies and assigns and all else who dealt in secretes and death. He followed the winding passageways, until he reached an unassuming brown door. It had no name on it, just a black iron handle and a single symbol carved into it at eye level. 

Ƥ

He went inside. The room had no windows, plain unplastered stone wall, and one piece of furniture. He went over to the warped table, a deep brown –red, as if it had absorbed all the blood that had been spilt because of what lay on it. The only thing that was on it was a roughly cured skin, bound with what looked like an off cut of skin. Branded on it was an embellished R.

The temperature seemed to lower than how cold the air already was, and he shivered. He retreated from the room as quickly as possible. 

When out of the Nest, he found an alcove to discover what was in the bundle. The first thing was a sketch of a rodent-like man. This man was minor lordling who had hunted and killed one of the King’s rare White Harts. There were the papers he needed and finally, a small pouch of silvery powder. He tucked it into a small bag he’d already packed. 

He was out of the city and riding hard, as the morning star appeared, low in the eastern sky. The road he was on was wide and well paved, and the horse has fast.

oOo

They stopped at a large traveller’s inn, as the last of the light was chased from the sky. He flipped two extra coppers to the stable boy, careful not to give him silver, as he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He would have preferred to carry on during the night, or at least sleep outside, but that would have also drawn too much attention to him.

The eating room was large, well lit, noisy and crowded. Perfect. Even he, proficient in the art of killing, wouldn’t want to start a fight if the local hot- heads realised he was a noble bastard, and a royal one at that. Noble bastards were despised and seen as rich pickings, probably because no one actually gave a fuck about them. Royal bastards were seen as worse. Starting a fight would probably see him decorating some castle in pieces.

The food was good, and much to his relief, no one spared him a second glance.  
oOo  
He reached the Lordlings castle on the edge of the mountains within a week and a half. He’d left his horse in the closest town and approached on foot, disappearing into a large crowd of builders and craftsmen, who he’d be working with for the next few weeks, until he was able to kill the lordling. 

When he reached the castle, he snorted; it was no more than a fortified house. It was barely larger than the town houses of the lower Lords back at home, which were only ever used when there was turbulence in the marriage bed. Oh, and for national disasters, but that rarely ever happened. 

His chance came when he was painting a fresco in the room where the Lordling was drinking with his friends (it was barely mid-morning). It was easy to hide the pouch in this painting things, and even easier to pour its contents into the Lordling’s drink.

He slipped back a little later and hid in the shadows. The poison was slow acting, or else he would be easily identifiable as the murderer. They were all so deep in their cups that they noticed nothing when their friend died. Which was saying something, because it was really rather dramatic. But they were all snoring away and not too gently in some cases.

He slunk out of the shadows, and as tradition demanded, hacked off his victim’s head and little fingers, to present to the King as proof of death.

oOo

His return to the palace was unannounced and he went in through the kitchens, he hoped the head cook, Madame Houcholpe, never found out what he’d been carrying through her domain. 

His first stop was to the King’s presence chamber, where he presented the (slightly rotten) head and fingers to him. At the sight, the Ladies of the court fainted- as did a few of the Lords. The King’s icy glare followed him out of the room and back to the hidden room where the Amis spent the majority of their time together, where an identical glare met him. 

Actually there were glares coming from all over the room and Grantaire wandered if they’d all become gorgons and if he’d turn to stone. The only one who wasn’t glaring was Jehan, which would have been a little hypocritical of him, if he had done. 

“Why are you all glaring at me?” he asked and wasn’t very successful in keeping the stupidly sheepish grin off his face. He felt like a five year old who’d found been found doing something he shouldn’t have. If five year olds had this many parents. 

“You left. Without telling me. And. You. Missed. My. Wedding.” Now Grantaire was sure someone had turned them to Gorgons (maybe the Apolloian man standing before him). Eponine was really scaring him though. She should be used to this, he had often disappeared off for days at home, without telling anyone. But no. She had the start-running-before-I-kick-you-into-next-year look on her face. “It’s my job. You know I can’t choose where and when I go,” he protested weakly. Her face told him that she knew differently. 

But luckily for Grantaire, Gavroche decided now was the time to (literally) bounce in. “R, you’re back! Can I see the head, please!?” Grantaire grimaced down at him, then grinned and shook his head. Gavroche pouted. And with that, the tension in the room dissipated. 

Grantaire retreated into a corner, as the meeting returned to its previous topic. Jehan was suddenly next to him. He felt his hand captured in one of Jehan’s small, delicate palms. “I’m glad you weren’t there,” his voice was soft, with a rich burr to it that neither Grantaire nor Eponine had. Before coming to the Court at five, he’d lived in the wild North, beyond the Misty Mountains [ AN: not the ones from the Hobbit, the Scottish mountains are sometimes called that] that separated the two parts of Uilts. 

Jehan was loser to him than his actual brothers and sisters; the Royal bastards. Montparnasse had been close, before, but never in the way Jehan was. A rush of homesickness overwhelmed him.

As if sensing his mood, Combeferre joined them, “I have heard much about your land, but never have I heard it from someone who lived there. Please, tell me about it.” If any of the other Amis had asked him, he would have likely said no. But something inexplicable made him want to confide in this man. 

Combeferre’s eyes were a deep brown, intelligent and calm. They reminded Grantaire of the wild forest ponies, the ones who’d never had a chance to become scared of people.

“Another name for our country is the Ringing Isle, due to all the church bells...”

oOo

 

The meeting drifted apart around an hour later. “Would you like me to show you the library? It is said it is one of the biggest collections of books in the known world.” Grantaire, of course already knew where the library was, but had no reason to decline the invitation. He conveyed this, and was rewarded with a beautiful and delighted smile (was it just him, or was everyone really good looking over here, it was rather unfair). 

The library was truly magnificent, with large dark wood shelves of thomes, each bound with jewel coloured leather, the name printed on in gold. Each was exquisitely illustrated and all were written by hand. There were books in languages he knew, and plenty that he didn’t.

Golden, honey-smooth sun drizzled in through the windows. It was quiet, but in a companiable way. Only the rustle of pages could be heard, and could have been mistaken as the books themselves; murmuring of times lost and places past. 

Conversing in a quiet murmur, Combeferre pointed out his favourite books and places to sit and read. There was something so peaceful about the atmosphere, that all the weariness from his journey was chivvied away. He felt refreshed and calm, in a way that he hadn’t for a long time. 

Both lost any sense of time; Combeferre showing Grantaire his favourite books, slowly leafing through the pages, as they read together. Grantaire was a little proud that he was able to show Combeferre some books that he’d never come across. 

This meeting between them became a regular occurrence, for both men loved reading, and there were a great many books that would defiantly prove useful.

oOo

But winter came, and with it came news that would disrupt their relatively peaceful lives; seemingly forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> England is sometimes known as "The Ringing Isle" because of the bells.   
> Thanks to all those who read the previous chapter, left kudos and subscribed, my entire week was so much easier with them, as it was my Grandad's funeral on Thursday, and the appreciation this got helped.   
> I hope to next update this next weekend, so please do try and be patient, I also have to write it as well as typing, and I've got my GCSEs this year so it may take a while to do.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras really comes to regret his temper. Back-story alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was unbetaed because my Beta doesn't like nonfluffy stuff. So if there are any mistakes, they're mine alone. Trigger warning, torture, but I've put asterisks around those bits, so if you don't want to read them, you don't have to, but this Chapter has Enjolras' backstory in, which is quite important.

The presence chamber was frigid, even with the heating pouring from all the air vents. Enjolras shivered, knowing that the summoning of the entire court boded ill. His father’s icy gaze would freeze even the warmest of hearts. Enjolras would never admit it, but he was feeling just a little scared. Eponine drew closer to him, because although neither had wanted to be married, they’d become friends. And they had to keep up appearances. 

“King Thénardier has retracted his daughter’s dowry. He has made his eldest son by his second wife his heir. He has denied that the Princess is any true relation to him,” shocked gasps rippled through the court.

Enjolras glanced at Eponine’s brothers. Gavroche looked confused and Jehan was white. He jerked involuntary when his eyes landed on Grantaire. His features were calm. Too calm. Even Enjolras, the worst at reading people, could tell the look in his eyes meant that he wanted to wring someone’s neck.

When the King stayed silent, the room started to quieten. Softly he spoke again, as he did, he glanced regretfully at Eponine. “This means what the marriage was hoping to accomplish; a bond between our countries, is no more.” 

Icy dread swept over Enjolras. The relationship between the two countries had never been stable, and the largest part of the marriage contract, was that Eponine would inherit the crown of her country. This was vital, as any trade by sea could be intercepted by the Uiltarian ships. This was over half of all the trade made by the country. More and more ships were being intercepted and relived of their cargo in the Isles of the Narrow Sea. 

This would mean- “we’re at war with Uilts.” Silence followed this statement. Enjolras tried to put an arm around Eponine, but she shrugged him off and fled the room. Sending a please-don’t-interfere glance at him, her brothers followed her. 

“Enjolras,” his father called to him, “don’t worry. I will not involve her or the child.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, “I’m sorry, although I am loath to do so, I shall have to involve the other two. I do know what it is like to have to fight against your own country.” He added softly. 

Enjolras was startled. He’d completely forgotten that his father had originally come from Aeoyn, which shared the southern border. He nodded, “I will also not ask you to participate, as long as it is possible. I know that the relationship between you and your wife isn’t the best.” Enjolras cringed a little at that. He really didn’t want to be reminded that he was married (especially to the sister of the one he really loved, a little voice in his head whispered, one that he quickly hushed). 

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

When he reached the secret room, everyone was already gathered. He sent a mournful glance to where Combeferre and Grantaire were huddled in a corner. He turned away and sat down next to Eponine, who surprisingly hid her face in his shoulder. Gavroche sat in Coufeyrac’s lap, still looking a little bewildered. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what was going on (he was too clever for that); he didn’t understand why his father would do this. Actually none of the three older Uiltarians, or former Uiltarians (there was no way their country would consider them theirs now) understood why this happened. 

“It’s that bitch he married. She would never let Eponine or Gavroche inherit. She’s already given her three children more titles than any should ever have,” Enjolras was a little surprised at the venom in Jehan’s voice. Enjolras didn’t consider him gentle per se, but still he didn’t really expect this of him. 

“Have they sent the official declaration yet?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras shook his head. “I think they want to keep the element of surprise and attack now. Once they’ve gained an advantage they’ll send the declaration,” his heart squeezed in his chest as he saw Combeferre take Grantaire’s hand. 

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

As he lay in bed that night, he reflected how most wars started for a trivial reason; a mother wanting more power for a child, others wanting power that the child should have, a grudge held against an artist.* And he started to despair over the entire situation. The woman, no the girl, who lay beside him, his best friend and hers. He felt insanely jealous of Combeferre, something that didn’t happen often. 

Carefully, so as not to awaken Eponine, he climbed out of bed and pulled on some clothes. He knew he’d be unable to sleep any longer. He made his way to the roof, where he often escaped to when tensions mounted in the palace. It reminded him of the castle in the Southern Mountains that he had lived in when he was young. 

Although it was cold, Enjolras didn’t care, he just pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The light was far more intense when it was cold, and Enjolras loved the richness of it. The moon was a waning crescent, looking like the grin of the cat in the story his mother used to tell him. The stars were bright and he could recognise many of the constellations, he found tracing the imaginary lines between them soothing. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He started and spotted Jehan sitting atop one of the chimneys. Enjolras shook his head. He climbed up next to the petite red-head. “I used to climb up here when my parents fought,” Enjolras told him. 

Jehan looked almost shocked. “I thought your mother died when you were young. No one mentions her at all,” he looked a little guilty. Enjolras’ face became mournful, “it is like she is dead. She lives in the South. I never see her anymore,” Jehan looked at him in askance. “When I was eleven, my older brother and younger sister were sent over the mountains to Aeoyn as part of a group to secure a marriage alliance between one of the countries near the Southern sea. 

“My sister was only nine and my mother believed she was too young to be betrothed, but my father sent her anyway. I was only a betrothal he said; she’d be at least fifteen before the actual marriage. 

But the party was attacked by someone in the hills, or there was an avalanche. We’ll never know, as none of the party arrived nor did they return. My mother believed that my father had paid mercenaries to kill them, as there was always doubt about the legitimacy of my brother. They argued so much that my father sent my away.”

“I’m sorry,” Jehan looked thoughtful.   
Enjolras shook his head, “I’m not. Not really. I miss my sister a little, but my brother was eleven years older than me. He was born in the first year of my parent’s marriage. Six months after. And he never looked like either of them, and so we were kept apart. I was far closer to Coufeyrac and-” he cut himself off.

“And Combeferre,” Jehan finished. Enjolras said nothing. “I’ve seen the way you look at him,” there was no need to explain any further. “Please don’t do anything to hurt him. There is no way for him to return to Uilts. And nowhere in this kingdom that would accept his service.” Enjolras shook his head and felt his heart squeeze as he realised he would never intentionally hurt Grantaire, or so he thought, not knowing what was to come. 

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

When summer started to arrive, so did the war. The winter cold and spring storms had kept the fighting to a minimum after the first few weeks after the king decided that they were at war.

Grantaire and Combeferre were far closer now, although Enjolras didn’t know just how close they had become, but that changed one morning in late May. 

Enjolras had been trying to find a rare volume in the library, when he stumbled upon them. Quite literally stumbled, as he tripped over what seemed to be the remains of a tunic. When he realised what the two were doing, he led. The two were too consumed by each other to notice that he had even been there. 

After that incident Grantaire disappeared off on another mission for his father, so Enjolras had no opportunity to confront him. Seeing Combeferre’s slightly puppy-ish pining look at the meetings was the last straw for Enjolras. 

He barely contained his anger and jealousy during the meeting. Once it was over he left as quickly as he could, and he made his way to the stables. He ordered a horse to be saddled, and he left the palace without any guards.

He didn’t consciously choose a direction, he just rode as fast as he could out o the cit. He was angry with himself and with Combeferre and with Grantaire and even with his Father. 

He blindly rode until both he and the horse were exhausted. Slowing to a walk, he gazed around not actually sure where he was. Well, he did know where he was, he just didn’t know where it was in relation to Prahtus. What he knew was limited to this; he was somewhere within a day’s ride of Prahtus, he was in a wood with no end in sight; he was on a rabbit track and surrounded by shoulder high brambles. Which wasn’t really much. There were plenty of woods in this region and plenty that were abandoned by the coppicers and other forest dwellers.

He dismounted and the horse gave him a very reproachful look. Its flanks were covered in foam, it’s breathing heavy, “sorry,” he stroked the horses neck. He took the reins and led it on foot. 

After half an hour of walking, he started to get a little frustrated. The brambles were still blocking his view of the wood, and the path was getting steadily narrower. Already he was covered in small stinging cuts from the unforgiving thorns. 

Suddenly, the path disappeared and he and the horse were surrounded by brambles. With no way to turn the horse, and it’s persistence for continuing forward meant that Enjolras had to fight his way through the thick, tangled, thorny vines. 

Just as suddenly as the brambles had closed in on them, they were free. Both Enjolras and the horse were stinging all over, and both desperately wanted to go home. 

There was a tiny stream in the clearing that they’d come to, and Enjolras threw himself down on the mossy banks. Hungrily he scooped water into his mouth, not caring how the water had started to turn orange.

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

 

Enjolras woke with a start, he didn’t remember falling asleep. The horse was gone and very little light remained. Cursing he stood. He returned to the brambles, but rather than trying to push himself through, he turned and started to follow the bushes, hoping to find a place where the subsided and he could return the way he came. 

But before he could do so, the light faded. He found a hollow under some of the brambles, and curled up, pulling his thin, ripped clothes closer around him. He tried to sleep but it was too cold, his shivering kept him awake, and the fading sting only added to his discomfort. 

The sun was quite high by the time it filtered into his little hollow. Carefully he pulled himself out of the brambles and stretched, aching and stiff. Drearily he started through the bracken and try and get home. 

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

 

He spent another night under the brambles. He was really starting to regret his temper. His stomach started to rumble and he really, really wished he could go home. A wave of relief swept over him, as he saw a break in the trees, and fields beyond them. He started to walk faster. Within ten minutes, he was out of the tees, and at the edge of a field. If he ever saw a bramble again, it would be too soon.

And, to his utter delight, he spotted a village. Well, it was more of a hamlet, but it meant people, and people meant food. 

As quickly as he could, he walked toward the houses in the distance. But when he got closer, he sensed that something was wrong. There was no smoke rising from the houses. There was no noise from people or animals.

When he reached the houses, it was still far too quiet, there wasn’t even bird song. The houses were empty and shattered barrels and furniture was strewed over the ground. He felt massive disappointment wash over him and sorrow, for they were his people. What had happened to them? 

Something creaked behind him and he whipped around, seeing the flash of a face, before a burst of pain. And everything was dark.

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

 

When Enjolras woke, he felt he truly knew what it was to be one of the People. He now knew he’d never complain about the palace again, with its soft beds and steady stream of food and drink. His hands were bound roughly behind him, and he could already feel numbness creeping through his little fingers; his feet were in a similar condition.

His head felt like someone had taken one of Jehan’s adored knives and plunged it into his skull with god-like vengeance. His mouth was dry and filled with a sour taste and his throat begged for water to wash the rawness away. 

He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust before something untoward happened. The room he was in was small and rugged. In fact, when he could see better, he realised that he was in a cave. A small part of him wandered if his captors could have thought of something more original. The bath-house of a little villa by the sea, for example. 

This revelation explained why the atmosphere was so hot and stuffy. And the fact that he was finding it difficult to breathe and felt a little light headed. Of course, that could be attributed to the fact that he’d been hit on the head a short (or Enjolras hoped) time ago.

When he heard several heavy, clumping pairs of feet, he curled in on himself, trying to hide as much as he could. Three men entered the cave. The first was built like an elephant (although Enjolras couldn’t be sure, as he’d never seen one) and he had hands the size of the bats for that new game Coufeyrac and Joly so loved, with that feathered thing. So Enjolras decided to name him Bat Hand. 

The second was small and scrawny, with skin so pale Enjolras doubted that he’d ever seen the sun. He looked like he had been dipped in a large barrel of white lead paint, which could explain the funny look on his face. So he was dubbed Lead Paint. 

The third was average height, average build, actually average everything, including intelligence. The only thing that wasn’t average about him was his large monobrow, which looked like someone had stuck a caterpillar on his forehead. So, he’d be Ted. 

Lead Paint came over to Enjolras and sneered, “We know who you are, pretty boy. You’re t’ Princeling.” Bat Hand joined him. “Who’d you think would pay more f’ you. Your Father?”  
“Or your Wife’s?”

Enjolras’ eyes widened. No. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t happen. If the King of Uilts got his hands on him, he’d be tortured for sure. But he knew that was what lay in store for him. He let out a terrified whimper before he could stop himself. The men exchanged disgusted glances. 

Enjolras felt all the air leave his lungs as his chest was kicked and the darkness claimed him once again.

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

 

The cell he woke up in was something out of his boyhood story books. It was cold and damp, with moss and lichen growing on the walls. Thin grey light reached as far as it could into the room.

“You’re awake,” he startled and looked up to see a man standing on the other side of the bars blocking the way out of the cell. With a jolt he recognised the dark curls that had become so familiar to him in the past several months. 

The man’s eyes weren’t the achingly precious blue-green, but an almost as precious puppy-dog brown. “You’re Montparnasse, Eponine, Grantaire and Gavroche’s brother.” The man ran a hand through his hair, “the latter is debatable, but yes, I am.”

“I’m sorry they you are here. My loyalty may be to my father, but I do not want to see my sister hurt. Is she all right?” Montparnasse looked hopefully at him. Enjolras nodded, “She’s fine. So are Grantaire, Gavroche and Jehan.” Montparnasse looked satisfied.

“You know what he’s going to do to you, don’t you?” Enjolras nodded again. “Brace yourself.” He turned to go, and then looked back over his shoulder at Enjolras. “Just know you have more allies here than you realise. Many here loved the Old Queen and will stand by her daughter. Good luck.” And with that, he disappeared. Enjolras felt utterly confused and curled himself up into a ball, trying to get warm.

When he woke again, several armed men were standing outside the cell. One opened the door, while another went and grabbed Enjolras’ arm and dragged him out of the cell. He was pulled through a warren of corridors, each made of the same deep grey stone. If their aim was to completely disorientate him, then they’d certainly done their job.

At last, just before he betrayed his fear, they reached a room. Inside the walls were covered in strange devices made out of iron. He was pushed down on a table in the centre of the room, which was tilted slightly. He was strapped to it with thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

A girl sat at the table. She looked very similar to Eponine, but her cheeks were a little rounder, eyes a little smaller, a little younger. “I’m Azelma,” she said with a giggle, “And we’re going to get to know each other well. It will be fun,” and clapped her hands together joyfully. 

She took a pair of scissors from a smaller table next to her, and approached his head. He clamped his jaw shut tightly. “There, there,” she cooed. And taking a handful of his hair, she started to cut.

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

She left, once she’d sheared his entire head, being extremely careful. She hadn’t even tugged his hair once. Obviously this confused him a lot.

She returned around ten minutes later, carrying a tray and a beaker. Setting them down, she approached him once again, this time with the beaker. She brought it to his lips, and when he kept his mouth firmly closed, she exclaimed, “it’s only water, silly! Drink.”

She tilted it again, but this time he obeyed drinking as fast as he could. “Careful. If you drink too much, you may be sick!” After he’d finished the beaker, she fed him the food on the tray, mutton stew. The meat was a little tough, the gravy slightly sour, but Enjolras didn’t complain, it was the first food he’d had in a week. She left him soon after that.

This happened for roughly two weeks and in all that time, she’d never once hurt him. His food was plain, and he only ever drank water, but he was reasonably sure that his fare was far better than that of those who also occupied this dungeon. 

**********************************************************************************  
Then she came in with an unhappy expression on her face. “I’m sorry my dear, but Father is demanding that I get on with it. I’m sorry” A deep pit yawned within Enjolras.

She reached out to the little table and picked up a small, sharp knife. Her sad expression developed into an apologetic smile, as she set the knife between the last two fingers of his left hand, and pressed down.

Tears started to course down his cheeks, but his mouth was clamped shut. He would not let them hear him scream. Rounding the table, she apologised again and repeated the movement on his right hand. Blood filled his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek. 

She must have noticed, as she turned around, went to the door and called, “Babet, please bring him something to bite on. We don’t want his tongue harmed.” 

A small man appeared, and he pinched Enjolras’ nose shut, until he opened his mouth, gasping. A piece of leather was thrust between his teeth, and the man left.

“I’m sorry, dear one,” she whispered and caressed his face, and then she proceeded to remove his fingernails from the remaining fingers on his left hand. Then a welcome wave of darkness swamped him, and then carried him away. 

When he woke again his hand ached numbly. Craning his head to his left, he noticed his hand sported a clean, but thick bandage, another tilt of his head confirmed that the same had been done to his other hand. He felt a touch on his shoulder, and cringed away from it. 

“I’m sorry,” the voice was too low to be Azelma’s. He squinted through the gloom and recognised Montparnasse. “I cleaned your wounds and I’ve also put a slave on that will numb the pain. If you keep acting like you are, as if you’re in a daze from the pain, then no one will notice the difference. Hold on.” Again he left with no more than a brief explanation. Enjolras had so many questions for him; hold on for what? When will this end? Why are you being kind to me? But the only things in the room were the encroaching darkness and the flicker of the flames of the torches, and in the grate. 

Before he could call out, Azelma appeared, bringing torches closer to him. Careful not to let his dazed, blank expression falter, he gazed up at her with half closed eyes. She looked no different than when she had first stepped into the room weeks ago. Enjolras guessed that she was maybe fourteen years old. What sort of monster would turn a little girl into this? 

She laid a soft hand on his forehead, checking for a fever, and beamed delightedly when she found he was fine. “I’m so truly, very sorry Darling One,” she once more took the scissors to his head, removing the fine blond fluff that had grown back. Enjolras could see some of the short golden hair that caught the firelight, which burnished it. A gleam of silver caught his eye, and he felt a blade carving into his forearm. 

He whimpered as she stroked along his arm with the blade, until his entire arm was soaked with blood. He noticed through the true pain induced haze, that she was very careful to avoid the pulse points, his wrists and the crook of his elbow. It seemed that they wanted him to live, at least for the time being. 

Transferring the blade to his other arm, she hummed contentedly. Inside he was screaming, but again he didn’t let himself scream, so he bit down on the leather that had once again been forced between his teeth. He desperately thought of home as she finished her ghoulish tasks. 

\-------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------

 

*********************************************************************************

Montparnasse came most of the time when she left. He spread massive globs of slave on Enjolras’ growing collection of injuries, some to stop infection, others to numb the pain. The infection preventing salves had mostly worked but the pain killing slave only worked to a certain point. Although it was never too bad, Enjolras never seemed to be able to get rid of a dull, throbbing ache, nor the persistent pinch of a headache, but they were pains he could live with.

His food was reduced to one meal per day, but he was still able to process the time. It had been two weeks in the cell, two weeks since her visits had started going bad. He’d been away from home for over four weeks. It’d be the start of June now. Almost a year since Grantaire, Gavroche, Jehan and Eponine had come to live in Prahtus.

Her visits were becoming worse. Often he wouldn’t even be awake when she returned the next day. Being strapped to the table was a horrible experience, as he was often left to lie in his own mess. Being cleaned by Montparnasse somehow made it worse. And he was now weaker than a kitten; hardly able to move his head to accept the food and water he was given. 

********************************************************************************* 

He was awoken by her childish giggle. That laugh had somehow made its way into his dreams, which were slowly descending into night terrors. 

He felt large hands unbuckle the leather straps on the table. He moaned as the blood rushed back into his wrists and ankles. He was moved upside down, and then strapped back to the table, so his feet were higher than his head. 

A trickle of water filled the room, and then a thick, heavy cloth was placed on his face. He started to panic. He couldn’t breathe! 

Just when he thought his lungs were about to burst, the cloth was removed from his face. He was given a few precious moments to gasp in air before the cloth was replaced. This process was repeated many times before she left. 

*********************************************************************************

Enjolras was left red faced and panting. He couldn’t be sure how long later it was when Montparnasse shook him awake. His breath was still coming in wheezes, but he had enough breath to recognise the look of fury in the man’s eyes. 

“This has gone far enough. I can’t let this happen to someone so dear to my sister. I am going to find them. I will bring them back with me, to free you. Do not worry. Someone will come to do the job I have done.” 

He held a small bottle to Enjolras’ lips. He gently tilted the contents into his mouth. The pain faded completely, his breathing eased and he returned to the comforting, familiar darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So the story goes that Hitler entered an art competition, and his piece was really good, but the judge was Jewish and he didn’t give Hitler first prize, so that’s why Hitler had a grudge against Jews (supposedly).   
> Thanks for all the Kudos' and stuff, it's really helpful when writing. I haven't finished chapter 3 yet, so I might be late updating, and I may have to go to a biweek update.


	4. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue and a fluffy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating so late. This is typed on my mothers iPad so if there are spelling errors, I'm sorry.

The palace was quiet. Too quiet. Even the kitchens and the court rooms were only filled with the necessary talk.

Grantaire sat in the corner of the meeting room, and stared at everything and nothing with blank eyes. Everyone sat with him waiting, silent, still, until more news came.

Normally people would be celebrating at this time of year, with feasting, hawking, tournaments and watching the mummers and tumblers that came from all reaches of the country and beyond.

But the palace kept it's self in a tension filled vigil. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bemused looks had been exchanged when Enjolras stormed away from the meeting. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at Combeferre, who shrugged, too used to his friend's odd and unpredictable behaviour. 

Concerned glances had been shared after two hours. But no one was actually worried. Enjolras wouldn't be as stupid as too run off would he? 

The worried and anxious looks were traded as four hours dragged onto six. By this time, the king was informed. Usually no one would have worried, but bandits had become common-place in the country after the start of the war.

But then the Head of the Stables entered the King's private chamber, where the most important members of the court were sat. This included all of Enjolras' group, as they were his court. "The horse that the Crown Prince was last seen on, has returned to the palace," the room broke out in happy murmuring, until it was noticed that the head of the Stables still looked grim. "Without the Prince."

Those three words were enough to send everyone into a panic. The King sat on his chair; a horrified expression on his face. This could have been attributed to the absence of his son, or the fact that his entire court were running around like helpless chickens, which members of the court were not supposed to do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And then a month ago they had received the parcel. It had been addressed to Eponine, but it was brought to the private Chamber, where the court were once again seated. 

It was placed on the large table that had been moved in just after Enjolras' disappearance. And this was where everyone sat. 

The parcel had been tied with thick waxed layer, that had to be cut through with a knife, the next layer was tick sheets of a new piece of stationary called paper. 

An ornately carved box was uncovered. The wood was dark, and it was the size of a small loaf of bread. Slightly bemused, she undid the costly, intricate iron clasps. The inside was lined with even more costly red velvet. 

She screamed. Jehan, who was seated next to her, paled. Cosette, who was on the other side of her, ran from the room, with Marius following.

Grantaire cautiously peered inside the box. Inside, carefully placed were two little fingers. Both were little fingers.

Tucked underneath them was a note. Grantaire took it and read it aloud, "I do hope you enjoy my little gift. I'd be sorry to see you upset big sister. Lots of love, Azelma." 

Something fell out of the note. Jehan picked it up and held his palm out for everyone to see. 

A single lock of golden hair gleamed in his pale palm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound of hooves startled Grantaire, by the was that Combeferre jumped, they'd startled him too. Grantaire was even more suprised when Jehan flew at him, almost knocking him over. 

"R, R. It's Monty, it's Monty!," he yelled, which was rather out of character for him. "What's Monty?" Grantaire asked confused. The exasperated look he was given made him fully comprehend what Jehan was saying. Not bothering to explain further, Jehan pulled him toward to entrance hall. 

Montparnasse stood in the middle of then entrance hall, surrounding by a large group of guards, along with what looked like to be the entire court and staff. 

When he spotted Eponine, he called out,"Eponine please! I have information about your prince!" the King looked at him hard, and then turned to her. "Do you believe him?" 

She made her way toward her brother, stopping just outside the ring of guards, looking every inch the Princess she was. She stared at his face for a long moment, "I trust him," at her words Montparnasse looked hopeful, "But I do not trust my father. Let us here what he has to say." She looked around at their audience silently. 

The King, understanding her meaning, ordered everyone except the most trusted members of the court back to their business. Those remaining followed the King into a normally untraversed part of the palace, which was unwelcomely familiar to Grantaire. 

When they came to a large room, the King ordered Montparnasse chained to a chair in the centre of the room. Cosette visibly shuddered when she realised what this room was meant for. Coufeyrac put an arm around her in comfort, and Marius took her hand. Grantaire and Combeferre exchanged glances. 

They all took seats that were tiered wooden benches along the back wall. Luckily the seats had cushions although they were a little threadbare.

The look of slight disgust on Montoarnasse's face made Combeferre shudder a little. "Look at his hands," Grantaire whispered in his ear. Looking at them, he realised that he was scared. This horrified him all the more. The stories Grantaire had told him painted the picture of a fearless man, who loved his family passionately and who would kill for his King without mercy. If he was reacting like this, Combeferre feared for his best friend. 

"Speak. We have ways of making you talk if you do not." Montparnasse flinched. He steeled himself and began to speak. 

"A month ago, my father, the King, told me that we had a rare treasure coming in. The next morning, in the cells beneath the castle, I saw a man; he had blond hair and blue eyes. It was obvious in a moment that he was at least of the nobility. His skin was too pale to have spent much time in the sun. His hands had not callouses, except one on his left hand, obviously from hours of writing. His clothes, although in tatters, were of fine quality.

"But he was thin and covered in cuts. My father be lighted the task of his care to my sister Azelma. 'We can't have our guest complaining. We may be at war, but a King is still expected to act with some decorum.

"The first thing she did was to cut his hair. And then she fed him. This continued for a matter of weeks. Then my father summoned her to him. He told her that is they broke the Crown Prince, they'd break the country." 

After this confession the room was still. No one dared look at the King, least they caught his eye. "Go on." 

"What was happening to him... You saw what was sent. That was not even the beginning. The other thins done to him make that look like a nettle sting. 

I kept him out of pain as much as possible. I may owe my loyalty to my father, but I owe more to my sister," he paused then and looked at her, then slid his gaze to Grantaire, " and my brother. There are people in our land who dislike the new Queen; they still support the Old Queen and her daughter. That is how I managed to come here.

" I may be like my brothers and kill for my King, but I do not ever torture those I am sent to kill. Their death is always painless. It was a rule taught to all of us, one that we hold sacred. We may be killers but we still have a conscious." Musichetta may have prided herself as a strong woman, but she felt ill after this, they all did. This man, this boy had respected her and kept her love secret, which was more than any other man had done to her. She stood and rushed out of the room, her lovers following her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eponine sat in her room, Fueilly and Bahorel stood at her door, a request from Coufeyrac. No one could know if there would be any attacks on her; and the Amis all preferred to have someone they trusted protecting her.

In her hands was a small portrait, small enough to be worn as a locket. Enjolras' burning stare gazed fiercely up at her, compassion and loyalty and love hidden underneath. It had been part of a set which had been wedding present for the both of them from the King at their wedding. She'd never appreciated it before, but now it was one of her most treasured possessions. She may not have loved him in the way that Marius loved Cosette, or the way that Coufeyrac loved Marius, but there was still an ache in her chest. 

A tear slid down her cheek, a gentle thumb wiped it away. She looked up into familiar deep green eyes. Jehan smiled at her. "We will find him. You forget where he is being held. The one place R and I know best in the world."

"Is there any chance I could go with you?" Jehan shook his head. They both knew that the King wouldn't risk her life, although they both wanted her to go, she knew the castle better than any of them. But none were going that wouldn't be absolutely necessary. Jehan and Grantaire would go, they knew the land. Bahorel and Fueilly would provide extra support. Joly would be needed as he was being trained as the court's physician. The King wanted someone he could trust, one that'd have the patient in mind, not a country quack who could charm his way into foolish noble's pockets. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The King obviously didn't trust Montparnasse, so he wasn't sent with them. They left at dawn, a week later, but they took their horses down the coast to a small port town, where they wouldn't be took conspicuous, but not one spies would be bothered to hide, before trying to cross the Narrow Sea. But the town was small enough not to have yet come under attack by raiders.

The first night, they set up camp on the edge of a Forrest. Bahorel caught several rabbits- reminding the two cousins of summers past. They slept out under the stars on that night. 

As they rode, the next few days were spent going over the lie of the land around the castle, how they were going to get in. But most importantly Jehan and Grantaire coached the three Praetans on the local dialect and accent. During their stay at the palace, they had been talking in a tounge that many nobles spoke in, originating from the North West of Preatus. But in Uilts few of the common people knew the full concept of grammar in their own language, and so few bothered to learn another.

It was vital that no one recognised any of them. The Praetians for obvious reasons, and the two Uiltians because if the King found out,they'd be in the same position as Enjolras with no hope of escape, in a trice. 

Surely the King would know of Montparnasse's betrayal and escape by now, so the only chance they had was to rescue in a way that was unexpected. But first they'd have to wait. Security would have increased threefold; and there was no way anyone, not even one who'd grown up there would be able to get inside. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They'd had to bribe a fisherman with a heavy amount of gold to take them across the Narrow Sea. Even though it was summer the sea was rough and the journey unpleasant. When they finally reached land they were stiff and tired. But they weren't even near their final destination yet. And so they started off on foot until they could find more horses. 

The Praetans learned the hard way that Uilts was more often wet and windy in the summer than hot and dry. And although both Jehan and Grantaire were used to the weather, after the fith consecutive day of heavy rain, they were throughly fed up.

Luckily that was when they reached the city of New Sarum. They paid for rooms that night at the New Inn, just a street away from the Cathedral, a place frequented by travellers and those looking for work in the city.

Then, once they'd bathed and eaten, the only thing left to do was stay out of sight and wait for an opportunity to present it's self.

 

****************************************************************************************************************

Enjolras wasn't sure how long it had been since Montparnasse had left. But he was only sure that it hadn't been long, because Azelma hadn't cottoned on to the fact yet, as nothing had gotten drastically worse. But it would happen soon.

And of course Enjolras being Enjolras, he was spot on. That day Azelma didn't even try to be kind to him, she just got on with it and didn't speak, which in some ways was a small mercy. 

He didn't realise he'd passed out until he woke back up again. A woman stood over him when he did so. He didn't recognise her, but her kind face was a welcome. She sang softly in a language that he didn't recognise, so assumed it was Uiltian. The song was soothing and combined with her hands gently soothing salve across his plethora of wounds, he started to feel pleasantly drowsy.

He drifted whilst she worked, remembering hazy memories of his childhood; the soft hair of his mother the comforting smell of his nurse whom had also been his wet nurse when he was a baby. 

She sat with him for a while and when he returned from the warm, sleep filled haze, she smiled at him," I'm Helen. I was nurse to the Princess and her brothers and sister." Her accent was thick, but she had a good grasp of Preatan, which a part of him was vaguely suprised at. 

She told him of her life as a girl in Praetus, how she fell in love with the Royal Falconer for the Ulitian Court when they visited in times of peace. She told him of her own children, who were a little older than him, the youngest almost weaned when Eponine was born. She told him how Queen Aoife had got rid of Eponine's first wet nurse because her baby died and she was bitter to the baby Princess. 

She told tales of the Uiltan people and the lore of the country. He learned that the Uiltians were very superstitious people. They never walked under ladder, left out bowls of milk for the "little people" and had iron crosses nailed over most doors and windows. He learned about their culture; the brightly coloured skirts and blouses of the traditional women's outfits and the white men's outfits with the coloured kerchiefs. He learned about the Morris dancers who performed traditional dances every May Day, Harvest festival and Yule gatherings. He learned about the Rush Bearing and the gifts given at the festival of Easteri.

She came back day after day with new tales of the country and the people. After a few days, she gave him news of his own country, stories of the War. Although those upset him, he was grateful. It meant that he was spending more time awake, and be felt the pain more, but he was glad to be awake. It meant Azelma's visits became better in some ways. He was able to fight back more, not letting her get to him- his nightmares were starting to go away. 

But the pain was starting was starting to get to him. He was unable to stop his pained whimpers and moans. He was still trying to stop his screams, although he was sometimes unable to. The visits started getting further apart. But they were getting worse. He was unable to tell what was happening, apart from feeling the pain. That's all his world was now; pain and hazy stories from Helen. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Enjolras, Enjolras, wake up," Helen shook his shoulder. He blinked, slightly dazed. "Enjolras, I'm going to get someone to untie you and then they are going to pick you up and take you to your friends house. I know you can't do much, but do try to be quiet." 

The thick leather straps were unbuckled and he was picked up, bridal style. It hurt just as much as some of the visits had done, but but after the initial wave of pain subsided, he snuggled into the warmth of the person's torso, being more warmth then he'd felt in a while. 

He was carried at an almost run through the corridors of the castle dungeons. Suddenly he was outside and he shivered. He was clad only in the remnants of his clothes and many bandages which did little to shut out of the cold. 

They were stopped, maybe a kilometre from the castle. Enjolras couldn't make out what was going on, but as his rescuer started walking again," there has been a change of plan. We will be going to the North, across the mountains. The journey will take around a week and a half." 

After a while he was placed gently in a cart and covered in several blankets. Although the road wasn't in good repair and Enjolras was jolted around, he was asleep quickly. 

He remembered very little of the journey, passing most of it by sleeping. His nightmares were interspersed with warmer dreams of Helen's tales and sun filled memories of the past year.   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grantaire paced around the room. It was very familiar to him, one that he had spent days in as a child. The room was warm and large with white plastered walls, with expensive tapestries lining the walls. It was in the large manor house on the edge of a loch on the North of Uilts, one that Jehan's parents owned. 

When they had been told about what the King was doing, Jehan's parents were furious. They were obviously, very close to the King, but they were completely on their son's side. 

After being almost discovered several times, Jehan and Grantaire decided to travel to the North. The journey was long, but King Thenardier didn't often visit the North more than once every six years, the last visit being just under two years ago. And with the war, there was very little chance that he'd come there. There, they'd all be safe.

A message had been sent to the the day previously, saying that they would be there the next evening. Grantaire was exited and deeply scared of what state Enjolras would be in. He'd seen what Azelma had done to people, her way of worming into her victims mind's with her little girl act terrified him. He hated the fact that they were in anyway related.

"Grantaire please stop. You're making my nervous," Joly gritted out from between his clenched teeth. They heard clattering of horses hooves outside. All of them jumped to their feet and as one rushed out of the room, into the entrance hall. Bahorel bounded out of the door and down the steps. He rounded the cart and disappeared from the view of the others who were standing on the stone steps leading to the main entrance of the house.

When he reappeared, he was holding a bundle. When he got closer, Grantaire realised with a sickening jolt that it was Enjolras. Up close, he looked awful. His hair was cropped close to his skull, his skin mottled and covered in bandages. Jehan's mother directed Bahorel to a room on the first floor, with large windows with diamond shaped panes of glass in them.

Enjolras was placed on the bed and he groaned and his eyes flickered open."R" he whispered. Grantaire nodded over and over, and threw himself down next to the bed and grabbed Enjolras' hand, who closed his eyes again and smiled.

He moaned again as Joly started unwrapping his bandages. Joly hissed a little when he saw the condition Enjolras was in. Grantaire carefully didn't look or dwell on the fact that the hand in his was missing a finger, and the rest were missing most of their fingernails. He started mumbling under his breath, trying to distract himself. 

Randomly he started humming a lullaby in Ol Uiltian and Enjolras squeezed his hand, and without opening his hands mumbled," Helen." Grantaire smiled, trust his old nurse to take care of Enjolras. He started to sing the song and Jehan joined in, both telling tales that few people knew anymore. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Enjolras slowly woke curled against Grantaire's chest, feeling far better than he had in recent memory. Light was barely creeping through the window, but it's ever longer reach told Enjolras that it was dawn. 

"...that softly sleep; she sat and sang..." the muffled voice sang. It stopped when Enjolras shifted and burrowed himself further into Grantaire's embrace, relishing the safe contact. He made a disgruntled huff as he was dislodged when Grantaire sat up. He heaved himself into a sitting position. Calloused fingers tilted his chin up to meet Grantair's blue-green eyes.nhe smiled as he saw Enjolras' eyes were clear," you had a fever, you've been out for a few days" Enjolras frowned, unable to remember what happened.   
"Where am I?" His voice was hoarse and croaky from not using for so long. He surveyed his surroundings. The room that he was in was unlike any that he'd seen before. The walls were plastered white and the floor was strewn with rushes mixed with herbs. There were sheepskins on the floor and a heavy iron bound chest at the end of the bed. The bed it's self had four posts with costly linen sheets hanging from them. The bed was piled with soft animal furs and pillows were filled with goose down. 

"This is Jehan's parents home. It was safer to bring you here than to try and take you back straight away. We were afraid the effect sea travel would have on you." Grantaire explained "Enjolras, would you let go?" The question confused him and then he spotted his hand was tightly clenched in Grantaire's sleeve." I need to go and tell the others that you're awake." 

Slowly Enjolras I clenched his fingers, but felt an immediate sense of loss as he did so. Grantaire stood and leaned over to place a kiss on Enjolras' forehead . He disappeared from the room and suddenly it was really hard to breathe. He tried to force air into his lungs but only managed to make it harder to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

There was a rush of noise, but it was all muffled as if he was underwater." Enjolras listen to me. You need to breathe," there was a hand on his shoulder. The voice .was familiar but he couldn't place it. "Focus on my voice , in and out. In and out," he focused on what the voice told him to do, he concentrated on breathing. Slowly everything returned.

Opening his eyes he saw Joly kneeling next to him. When Joly removed his hand Enjolras tensed but relaxed as Grantaire pulled him into a hug. Enjolras buried into him mad started to sob. Grantaire held him and he felt lighter fingers stroke the duck fluff that was pretending to be his hair. His sobs subsided and he took his face from Grantaire's tunic, which was now rather damp. He shuffled so he could see the other people in the room, but without letting go of Grantaire. 

As well as Joly, Jehan and Fueilly and Bahorel were in the room, "it's good to see you awake," Bahorel grinned and he had to smile back." When are we going home?" He asked in a small voice.

This time Jehan smiled, "soon. By the end of the week probably; weather permitting," this made Fueilly snort in laughter," which means another week and a half, have you seen the weather here? We haven't seen the sun in the entire time we've been here." Enjolras laughed; rain battered hard at the windows and had been since he woke.

Leaning back against Grantaire, he relaxed as the others sat on the bed chatting about their awful crossing in the tiny boat and the other adventures they had had (although they steared clear of any topic that could be too upsetting). 

The conversation stopped as the door opened and a woman entered. She was maybe thirty six years old, she had long ginger hair and blue eyes. She was pale with lots of freckles. And she was really, really tall. Enjolras gawked, it was evident that Jehan had inherited his fathers build. She beamed at them. 

"It's good to see you awake dear. It's good to finally meet the husband of my niece," she glided over to the bed (Enjolras had never seen anyone move without size wall with half as much grace.) "Come o, let's get have you up. It's breakfast and you need food. I'm Agnes by the way."

Obediently Grantaire helped Enjolras stand. Jehan's mother shooed everyone else out of the room. "Do you want to dress yourself, or do you need a hand?" Grantaire asked him gently. Enjolras stared down at his hands, both devoid of a little finger. In a quiet voice he replied, "help me please." 

Grantaire nodded and helped pull Enjolras' night shirt over his head. Enjolras looked down at the dark pink scars littering his body. His eyes filled with tears. He stood numbly as Grantaire dressed him in an undershirt, tunic, loose trews and soft leather shoes. Enjolras was grateful for the trews, they wouldn't show his scars as hose would, and we're far warmer. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room that the servant lead them to was small, with white wall like the rest of the building, but costly tapestries were on the walls, weapons and the mounted heads of many game animals; types of deer, hog an an enormous boar. 

A fire blazed in the massive harth, just lathe enough to heat the whole room. There was a large dark wooden table that dominated the room, with benches either side and chairs at each head. Around it sat Jehan, Joly, Fueilly, Bahorel, Agnes and two men he didn't know. 

"Boys," Agnes greeted them with a beam, "this is my husband," indicating to the man on her left, "and my brother." Her brother was larger still than she, but there was a gentle smile on his face, and Enjolras immediately liked him.

He sat down on one of the benches, still tightly clasping Gantaire's hand. The others were eating cold meat, sausages and goats cheese and drinking small bear. Looking at it he felt slightly ill.

He was greatful when a plate was put before him with soft white bread, still warm from the oven and slices of Apple. He started eating with his right hand, his left never letting go of Grantaire. 

He didn't manage to eat more than half of the bread and a few slices of Apple. He looked guiltily at the bread, knowing full well how expensive the flour to make this bread was. He didn't want to waste any. 

Jehan's father, Robert, noticed his look, "My son was telling me about what you friends do. Why don't you take that and what ever you can beg from the cook down to the village and give it to the people there?" Enjolras nodded enthusiastically, and a servant cam forward with a basket.

They all pack the remains of their breakfast into the basket, before Jehan showed them to the kitchens. The Cook was delighted to give them food as her sister and young nieces and nephews lived in the village. She was even more delighted when she learned that Joly was a doctor and asked him to have a look at her nephew who had a fever.

After Joly promised they would, they set out for the village. It took barely ten minuets to walk there, but when they got there Enjolras was exhausted. Children instantly mobbed them and he quickly forgot his fatigue. 

 

He loved the looks of happiness and excitement on their faces as he passed out bread rolls and bits of honeycomb to the younger children. The older children got more bread and honeycomb and the cold meat that they had packed. Their gratitude made Enjolras sad and angry as he knew that this was probably the only meat they'd get in a while. It was the same back in Praetus, poverty never changed. 

When the basket was empty he froze as he realised that Grantaire was nowhere to be seen. A cool hand slipped into his and he relaxed. "It's amazing to watch; you and them. It's like you're giving them something amazing and you looked really happy." The warmth and affection in his voice was was clear and Enjolras smiled at him. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Enjolras did not at all like the journey home on the boat one bit. He watch enviously as Jehan danced across the cabin, throwing knives about and acting out children's stories to keep him distracted. It mainly worked but every time the boat rolled dramatically he would groan and squeeze Grantaire's hand thigh tear. The only time he let go was when he was asleep, but even then Grantaire would hold him.

Neither minded but it was horrible for both of them as they both desperately wished the closeness came through love. Jehan clicked his tongue at them, really wanting for them to talk to each other- really talk. But at the moment Enjolras was in no position to do so. 

He had nightmares every night, and woke up screaming. He ached and itched all over but Joly wouldn't let him have much of the pain potions, saying that he could become dependant on them. They were called Poppies Tears and many nobles had become addicted to them and making their families destitute in their search for more. 

Finally he was told by Bahorel that land had been seen and they'd soon be home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was night when they finally docked and a carriage was waiting for them. Fueilly was sent ahead to alert the King to his sons return.

The carriage journey was horrible and every hole in the road jolted him and rattled him to the bone. He felt a sense of déjà vu and shivered. Grantaire put an arm around him and tucked the fur cloak, which had been a present from Agnes and Robert, closer around him.

It drew to a halt as dawn was breaking. Grantaire helped him out of the carriage and was instantly swept into a bone crushing hug by his father. Enjolras was suprised to realise his father was crying. He kept repeating "my son" over and over. 

When he drew away, he was instantly replaced by Eponine who also nearly squeezed the life form him. After that he was passed from person to person, until he came to Gavroche, who wrapped his arms around his chest and rested his head against his torso. Enjolras leaned his head down and rested his chin on his head, and he inhaled the scent of his hair, as he had done with his sister all those years ago.

Gavroche broke away and Grantaire once again slipped his hand in his," I missed you," Gavroche confessed. "I missed you too," Enjolras replied ignoring the fact that most of the time that he'd been gone, he hadn't been in a position to miss anyone. 

All the Amis followed him up to his bedroom, none wanting to leave him, and so they piled onto the bed in a heap, Enjolras in the middle. He sighed contentedly, he was safe.

But as Grantaire drifted off, he couldn't help thinking how easy it had been. Too easy. It was as if they wanted Enjolras to go back home. That they'd let him go.

**Author's Note:**

> The countries aren't exact translations, but Uilts is basically England. The name comes from the name of the county I live in, Wiltshire. I'm not comparing the two countries in my fic because I don't like France, its to further a plot point. This is my first fanfic so concrit is welcomed. If you have any questions about something, just leave a comment, I'll be happy to reply :).


End file.
